


nothing could be further from my jam

by flutter2deceive



Category: Grace and Frankie (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 01:48:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11071503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flutter2deceive/pseuds/flutter2deceive
Summary: her companionship with frankie fulfilled any need for an emotional connection, and the rest she could take care of herself. well, if she actually got on with it, made that call.





	nothing could be further from my jam

**Author's Note:**

> I swear, I have at least 1000 words of a respectable Grace/Frankie fic in the works, but noooo... this unbeta'd little piece of 3am hormones just had to be written and thrust into the world as my first written offering to this beautiful fandom. (Go watch my fanvid... I'm classy, I swear!) 
> 
> Now here's the masturbation fic that Grace Hanson practically willed into existence.

Lying in her bed, Grace stares at the purple vibrator sitting on the nightstand beside her. She had been excited to use it at first, even changing into her red silk pajamas-- "to set the mood." She'd laughed to herself at the thought before getting into bed. But now it seems intimidating, taunting her almost. This had to be good, she'd convinced herself, built up the expectation.

Because this was it.

Not wanting to open herself up again to heartache, she'd made peace with being enough for herself. Her companionship with Frankie fulfilled any need for an emotional connection, and the rest she could take care of herself. Well, if she actually got on with it, made that call.

Reaching over, she grasps the vibrator with her left hand, her good wrist. She loosens the drawstring on her pants, closing her eyes, letting the slight weight of the toy rest briefly on her stomach before pushing it lower. As she runs her fingers over the bumps of the rubber sleeve, she begins thumbing through her mental Rolodex of potential fantasy lovers.

_Guy inspires no real passion... Phil is still too painful of a memory... Byron..._

Well, considering he was her go-to for her last failed attempt at this, she would just as soon classify him as too painful of a memory, as well.

_Frankie's probably thinking of Jacob... or Liev Schreiber..._

Unbidden, an image of Frankie pops into her head, as if she's summoned it just by thinking her name. She sees Frankie lying on the couch in her studio, head tilted back against her pillow, hand moving beneath her pajamas. The jolt Grace feels between her own legs is as surprising as it is strong.

She hasn't even turned the vibrator on yet.

Not wanting to put it off any longer, she takes this as the initiative to commit, pressing her fingers to the power button. She'll switch gears and turn her mind over to Ryan Gosling any second.

Except she doesn't so much.

The image behind her closed eyelids remains transfixed on beautiful smooth skin, a mess of gray and brown curls, cute ears. Breasts.

That last thought is enough of a departure from the norm that it shocks her eyes open. But not shocking enough to where she feels the need to stop what her hand is doing. Because it  _is_ good;  _god_ , is it good.

A change of scenery, then. 

She can't imagine doing this anywhere outside of the comfort of her own home, though. The home she shares with Frankie -- _oh, for fuck's sake--_ and she's back to imagining Frankie again. Only this time, they're together in the living room, just like Grace had suggested, out of the blue, not more than an hour ago. They're sitting at opposite ends of the couch, each with one leg stretched out, the other slightly bent, hands clutching at violet in between. Their eyes are on each other, and Frankie lets out a laugh at the absurdity of it all. Grace follows.

As the minutes tick by, the pleasure of laughter is overpowered by a sensation much stronger. It stops being funny.

Grace is the first to moan, closing her eyes as Frankie lets out an answering sigh. Her eyes don't stay closed for long, though-- what good is a fantasy if you can't see it?

Frankie has her bottom lip caught under her teeth as she stares heat into Grace. Grace gives a brief thought to closing the distance and taking that lip between her own, except that would interrupt her rhythm. Frankie smirks at Grace's quiet desperation, meeting her eyes.

"Race ya," she drawls, flicking the speed control button to the next setting. Grace doesn't need to be told twice.

It's on.

In her fantasy and in her bed.

As her mind plays out the rush to the finish line, Grace's voice crescendos within the walls of her room, swelling and breaking in time with her body, a release years in the making. She calls out Frankie's name before her mind goes fuzzy, fades to black as the credits play.

She has been on heavy metaphor maintenance all day.

Coming back to herself, Grace catches her breath, sitting up higher against the pillows. Staring at the stark reality of the blues of her bedroom walls makes what she's just done seem all the more potent. She brings her hand up to her mouth, shaking, tries to stifle the horrified gasp.

_What the fuck was that?_


End file.
